


Living in colour.

by dinnafashnow



Category: Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:39:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinnafashnow/pseuds/dinnafashnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The third #scotchtalk session gets bigger than Ben Hur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living in colour.

**Author's Note:**

> I just really love parties and whisky and that beanie. This made me laugh.

**1.**

"I warn you, when I drink whisky I get mouthy," Cait declares to the room, and Grant immediately starts typing on his phone again. "Oh, shit. Can't we leave that off the internet?"  
"Nope," he replies, fingers typing. "Everything going straight to twitter. The people need us."  
"Fine." She picks up her glass and throws back the whole nip, setting the empty glass back down on the table. "I guess I'd better fucking not disappoint, in that case."  
Graham stares at her, gobsmacked. "That's not how you treat a fifteen year old single malt."  
"All right, then," Cait holds her glass out, "give me another and I'll do it better this time."

  
**2.**

"This one... is like a lovely lady."  
"A lovely lady who isn't yours, maybe."  
"She used to be! This is one for tragic fellows."  
"I don't think I have enough feelings for this one. I don't feel like I'm qualified to drink it."  
"My phone's died."  
"Your phone's widower could drink this one now."  
"Is that... is that me? Am I my phone's widower?"  
"I know you're intimate with your phone, Sam, but let's not get into detail."

"Well,  _I_ like it," says Duncan.

**3.**

Sam leaps to his feet and holds his glass up in a toast.  
"THIS IS DELICIOUS."  
Graham's Dwalin toy flies through the air and hits him in the face. Tobias applauds solidly until Maril grabs his hands and scolds him for applauding himself.  
"It was a great shot. Somebody had to clap."

"I'm serious, this one is the best."  
"Sit down, eedjot." Cait leans over and punches him in the thigh. He flops back onto the couch next to her, one leg draped over hers, nursing the last of his whisky to his chest. He finishes it, letting out a morose sigh when he's done.  
"There's just so much going on in it. Which one was it?"  
"The Old Malt Cask," Matt reads from the label. "The Craigellachie. Ah, it's an 18. It's very nice. Good burn."

Sam nudges Cait gently in the ribs. "Do you like it?"  
"It's good. Maybe a bit much, I liked the first one more." She drinks the last of her glass just as Sam reaches for it, and he cries out in distress.  
"Wasted!"  
He grabs her chin and kisses her soundly. There's tongue involved. Tobias readies the Dwalin toy for another lob.

"One of Sam's favourites so far," Grant types eloquently.

**4.**

"To Mortlach," Graham announces, holding his glass up.  
"MORTLACH," the rest of the group echoes as one, trying to clink as many glasses as possible.

A fuss of pretentiousness follows: swirling liquids and delicate sniffing, pinkies up. Duncan dips his finger in a glass of water and lets a drop fall into his whisky glass. Grant tips his nose as far into the air as physically possible while still being able to sip his drink. Sam gargles. The Dwalin doll bounces off his throat and he chokes and splutters.  
"Still got it," says Tobias.

"I feel very knowledgeable, but also sad." Cait nods, happy with this statement, and rests her head on Sam's shoulder. Not good enough. She pulls his beanie off his head and puts it on, resting her head back on his shoulder. Better. His arm comes to rest around her shoulder but he's still focused on his glass, holding it up in front of his face and frowning at it.

"I'm very relaxed, but I would like a cuddle."  
"Come here, you big old bear." Grant holds an arm out and Graham scootches under it. "I'll give you the cuddling of your LIFE." Graham tries to pull away but it is too late.

"Maril. Maril. Maril. Maril! MARIL."  
"TOBIAS."  
"Do you think I can—do you—have—I'm going to—I think you need me to sit on your lap," Tobias says, and plonks himself down, half on Maril but half on Graham as well.  
"This is looking like an after shot," Matt says, standing up and getting his phone's camera ready. Sam throws back the rest of his drink and quite impressively parkours over the back of the couch.

**EPILOGUE.**

He is fast asleep with his head in her lap moments after the cab pulls away from the kerb, and she brushes her fingers through his hair, his beanie firmly back on her head again after a constant back and forth competition all evening.  
  
"I'm the winner," she whispers. "I win."  



End file.
